


set sail on sweet new seas

by Sour_Idealist



Series: Sweetened Nights [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Closer-to-Human!Cole, M/M, Multi, Sexual exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 13:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: “There are things you do,” Cole says. “Lots of them. Sweaty, slick, sliding, skin on skin, breath hot, pounding heart, life filling the body up. It helps people, and it helps you.”“Uh. Okay.”“I want to know more about the things you do,” Cole says. “I want to know how.”Bull opens his mouth, closes his mouth, opens it again, and drains his beer.





	set sail on sweet new seas

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of an ongoing project which will continue until I get bored, wherein I see how many people in the Inquisition I can write hooking up with Iron Bull, because a perfect fandom bicycle is not to be wasted. Each story should stand on its own, however, this one included. 
> 
> First content note: all the sex in this story is cheerfully consensual, but there is a discussion about the importance of consent, and because of the way Cole communicates, this includes a very brief first-person narration of sexual assault (as Cole lists off a something he 'overheard' psychically.) So, be aware of that going in. 
> 
> Second content note: Marguerite, aka Candy, is a sex worker - she's discussed in party banter between Cole and Bull. (If you didn't bring them out together: Bull hires her to 'spend some time' with Cole; Cole ends up helping her deal with some of her own shit and write a letter to her mother; Bull seems both pleased and unsurprised by this result.) 
> 
> Within the context of this fic, I have chosen to portray sex work as work: work that is not be particularly well-respected, and which may be difficult and draining, but which Marguerite freely entered into and which under the proper circumstances she may enjoy, much like many forms of nonsexual service work. If you're uncomfortable with such a depiction, this may not be the work for you. 
> 
> I did include handwavey potions of birth control + STD protection, though, because if Thedas has jars full of weaponized bees, I can assume Thedas has a less disgusting option than lamb intestine condoms.

“I have a question for you, The Iron Bull.” Cole slides, whisper-quiet, onto the bench next to Bull, heedless of any kind of personal space. Bull shifts over to make room, grunting.

“Go ahead, kid. I’ll answer if I can.” He eyes his tankard contemplatively; it seems it might be necessary in the near future.

“Varric showed me the templar. He showed me how to be angry and remember. You know that. Now I’m different.”

“Yeah, I’m with you so far,” Bull says, rubbing at the back of his head. The Inquisitor filled him in, a bit, and he’s noticed that he’s noticing Cole more often now.

“I tried new things. Food, drinking, human things. Sometimes they help people. It makes the cooks happy when I eat. Sometimes it makes the barmaids happy when I ask them for a drink. And sometimes it helps… me.”

“Sounds pretty normal,” Bull says. “People like to be appreciated. And eating’s probably not going to be bad for you. Dunno how that works for you.” Cole’s definitely too skinny, though. Bull resolves to check up on the eating thing, or at least see if Varric or Solas is.

“There are things you do,” Cole says. “ _Lots_ of them. Sweaty, slick, sliding, skin on skin, breath hot, pounding heart, life filling the body up. It helps people, and it helps you.”

“Uh. Okay.”

“I want to know more about the things you do,” Cole says. “I want to know how.”

Bull opens his mouth, closes his mouth, opens it again, and drains his beer.

“Oh! Stay here.” Cole slides off the bench, over to one of the barmaids – Lyna, dark-haired, liked it sleepy and slow. Cole touches her arm. “The Iron Bull needs another drink,” he says. “If you bring it to him, he will look at you like you saved his life.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking. “I, uh – I’ll get him one. Thank you?”

“There,” Cole says, coming back to the bench. “The alcohol really makes it better?”

“It’ll make _this_ better,” Bull grumbles. “Okay. Uh. You want to know about sex. What… exactly are you hoping I’m going to do here?”

“I don’t know!” Cole says. “That’s why I’m asking. I want to understand. It helps the hurt – but sometimes it hurts, but the new hurt washes the old ones away, and the new hurt is easier. Sometimes the hurt _is_ the help. I want to understand it.”

“Okay. Uh.” They’re interrupted by Lyna resting her hand on Bull’s shoulder.

“Your friend said you wanted another drink?” she says. “Cabot added it to your tab, since he says he knows you’re good for it, and I figured, you know, if it was some kind of misunderstanding, it’s only a few copper, right?”

“Thanks,” Bull says. “Yeah, I did need another drink. You’re a blessing and a half.”

Lyna smiles, handing the drink off. “Glad to help. If everyone in this tavern was as grateful as that, I’d think I was fancier than the Herald.” She heads off, still smiling, and Bull takes a pull from his newly-delivered salvation.

“Okay,” he says. “You want me to explain to you how it works, you know, sword goes in scabbard? Some of the things you’ve said, it sounds like you have a pretty good picture of some of the kinkier stuff, the kind that needs a watchword, just from listening in on me.”

“I like the attic,” Cole says. “I can hear there, or have it be quiet. I don’t disturb people. But it’s right next to where you go, so I hear you too. I didn’t know I should stand somewhere else, and then I was used to it.”

“Fair enough,” Bull says, once he’d parsed that. He sighs. “So. Do you know how, uh. The physical part of it?”

“What goes where? I _think_ so. Some of it. You see things, when other people don’t see you. I know about latrines too,” he adds, shrugging. “It took me a long time to know people didn’t like me seeing. I thought it was just eating in reverse.”

“So.” Bull considers. “You want me to... you know, maybe I can talk to Candy again. Get her to talk to you. Maybe she can handle this.”

“She was nice,” Cole allows. “But I want you to be there too.”

“Fucking crap.” Bull rubs a hand over his face. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

“Cole!” Candy says, holding out her arms with an entirely innocent gesture. Cole goes to her more easily than Bull had expected, and she leans up to kiss his cheek. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Marguerite,” Cole says in return. He doesn’t hug her back, which is actually faintly soothing. Cole acting too normal would be weird in itself.  “You’re better lately. Your mother wrote you back.”

“She did,” Candy – Marguerite? – says, smiling. “I’m glad. And Bull here says you’ve had an interesting time of it, too. Gotten a little less… strange.”

“So you remembered him, then,” Bull says, leaning against the doorway.

“I did. I have a lot of strange customers. He was a nice kind of strange.” She smiles, brushing her dark hair back behind her ears. “But I don’t think I’m here to talk about my mother, tonight. Granted, I didn’t think that last time either,” she adds, a little more prosaically.

“I wasn’t all that surprised,” Bull admits. “I figured you two would get something out of meeting each other, however it worked out. But Cole wanted a do-over.” He pauses. “Should I be calling you Marguerite now, or Candy?”

“Hm.” She purses her lips. “I’m here as a professional, tonight. So usually it would be Candy. But Cole’s been calling me Marguerite – I don’t want to confuse him –”

“I’m not confused,” Cole says. “Justice and Vengeance, Wisdom and Pride, Compassion and Despair, Candy and Marguerite. But neither one of you is a demon. You don’t hurt people.”

“Unless they ask nicely,” she says, smiling. “That’s… well, I’m glad one of us isn’t confused. But I told you that you could call me Marguerite, Cole, and I think… tonight is going to be _unusual,_ professionally. And it would be confusing for everyone to have you two call me two different things. So, tonight, Marguerite, I think. Is that all right?”

“Whatever you like,” Bull says immediately. “And thank you again for helping out with this. I know it’s weird.”

“If I wanted usual, I could go to the docks at Val Royeaux,” she says, grinning. “Also, I charged you extra. So. Cole. Bull said you wanted to understand more about sex and about how it makes people feel. And that you can… sense what other people feel. Is that right?”

“Only if they hurt, or if it’s part of the hurt. Tied to it. But a lot of things are tied to it. Pillow under my head, wet, cheeks wet, smiling, ache between my legs, his cock going soft and feathery inside me.” Cole’s eyes flutter shut, lashes delicate against his cheeks, and Bull swallows hard. “He kisses my hair. I’m going to betray him, but I can give him this. He’s weak, he hurts too easily, but I can fix it now.” Cole opens his eyes. “That was a long time ago, I think. She thinks about it all the time now. She sees too many people who knew her back then. It’s too hard for her to forget.”

“I… have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bull says, “but yeah. It can work like that. It’s complicated, when you’re sleeping with people you care about. It’s complicated _without_ that, sometimes, even if you’re going to a tamassran. Lot of stuff it can stir up in your head.”

“Tamassran. Is that Qunari for working girl?” Marguerite asks.

“It’s all the Qunari matriarchs,” Bull says. “Some of them are in charge of sex, some aren’t. It’s just a job, there, like being a cook or a healer.”

“I might like you Qunari fellows,” Marguerite says. “So I’m a special kind of tamassran for the night.” Bull winces, and she shakes her head. “Or not, I guess. Sorry, I know you’re…”

“Tal-Vashoth is the word,” Bull says. “Look. Let’s not talk about that tonight.”

“You’re hurting,” Cole says. “Will we help?”

Bull shrugs. “Let’s find out.” Cole is still staring at him, big-eyed, and Bull sighs. “I don’t know, kid. I’m not sure. But I think there’s a pretty good chance. I like helping people to figure things out.”

“That’s good,” Cole says. “Should I take my clothes off?”

“In a minute,” Bull says. “First, Cole… look.” He sits on the edge of his bed, scratching the back of his head. “This stuff’s complicated.”

“Yes,” Cole says. “That’s why I’m asking.”

“Yeah, well, that’s… sensible,” Bull allows. Marguerite leans back against the wall, looking unhelpfully amused. “But look, Cole, it’s easy to get hurt with this stuff.”

Cole nods. “Choking, crying, knees hurt on old stone, hands pulling at my hair, hurts, _hurts,_ the word no clawing at the back of my throat but I can’t speak –” He shudders, whole-body. “I’m not going to do that. Those are bad people. They don’t care if people are hurting, or they like hurting people, or they pretend it isn’t happening even when they can see the hurt in front of them. Real hurt, not just pain, not like you two do. The yes is important. The yes is what makes it not hurt.”

“That’s right,” Marguerite says. “It’s all about the choice.”

“I’m not going to hurt anyone.” Cole looks at Bull, not blinking. “I know to ask. I promise.”

“Yeah, Cole, I know,” Bull says. “That’s not what I was worried about. I don’t want _you_ getting hurt.”

Cole frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes someone needs something you can’t give,” Bull says. “If someone wanted me to take orders, I could do that for an evening or two, but I couldn’t build a relationship that way. It’s not how I’m wired. Even if it was someone I really liked, someone I wanted to help, I’d start to feel… crushed-in. Pinned up. Like an animal in a cage, like I was trying to be someone I wasn’t. Even if it helped them. I’d start wanting to push at someone, to be in control, to – well, what I want isn’t the point. It’s that I could hurt myself, really mess with my own head, trying to offer someone something I don’t have.”

“Or,” Marguerite says, staring now at the far wall, “you can feel dirty, later. Even if you chose everything you did, even if all of it made you happy at the time, or if you thought it would be worth it and you’d done stranger and worse – it can stick to you. Sometimes it means you have to go back and do it till the shame wears off, and sometimes it means it’s off the table. It’s hard to figure out which, sometimes, but you can’t ignore it.”

Bull nods. “See, this is one thing I think the Qunari have right,” he says. “What you do, Candy – Marguerite. What you do as Candy, I guess. It’s something people need and it’s hard to do well, and it takes a lot of work. It’s a good job to have. We’d be a lot worse off without it.”

“No need to try and patch me up, Bull,” she says, but she smiles. “I’m all right. What peace I hadn’t made with it last summer, I’ve made now. But thank you.” She pauses. “You know, that’s not actually that different from what Cole said to me back then.”

“But I like helping,” Cole says, drawing the conversation back. “Why would it hurt?”

“Because minds are complicated,” Bull says. “And minds and bodies push on each other. Sometimes in ways you don’t expect. Hey, that’s why you’re more human in the first place, isn’t it?”

“Oh.” Cole frowns. “So my body might not like something. And then _I_ wouldn’t like it.”

“Uh, sort of,” Bull says. “Look. Just, promise me – if something feels wrong to you, if it’s something you don’t like, promise me that you’ll ask to stop. Not just tonight. Whenever you do this. Promise me that if something’s bothering you, you’ll pay attention to that. Even if it’s helping someone else. Don’t fuck yourself up trying to help.”

“All right,” Cole says, nodding. “I promise, The Iron Bull.”

“Okay.” Bull exhales, glancing over at Marguerite, who is eyeing him with her chin pinched between two fingers. “Anything I’m forgetting?”

“I don’t think so,” she says. Bull’s best guess for the look on her face is respect. “It’s good advice.”

“Is there anything else I need to promise?” Cole asks.

“I don’t think so,” Bull says. “So… I don’t really have a plan here.”

“Well,” Marguerite says. “I figure usually a kiss is a good start.” She crosses the room, taking Bull’s head in her hands. “Yeah?”

“Sounds good to me,” Bull says, and leans up to kiss her. He’s a fan of kissing, always has been; she does it showy, enthusiastic, panting into his mouth. He suspects her of exaggerating a little, but there’s nothing wrong with a little vocal appreciation. He’s done it, when he’s with someone who seems unsure of their own performance – which probably includes Cole, come to think of it.

“There,” Marguerite says, pulling back. “How did that feel to you, Cole?”

“Warm,” Cole said. “Not much else. Neither of you is hurting. Can I try?”

“Sure, honey,” Marguerite says, and crooks her finger. Cole comes closer, hands folded in front of him, and tilts his head down.

“Close your eyes,” she says, and cups his face between her hands. Cole obeys, and she kisses him. They make a pretty enough picture, her freckled hands and the dark curls of her hair against his washed-out ghostly skin. Cole doesn’t move, but he opens his mouth after a moment, and Bull catches a hint of her tongue flickering against his lips. She pulls back for a moment.

“Try putting your hands on my shoulders, honey,” she says. “Or in my hair.”

“Oh!” he says, and does. “Your hair is very soft.”

“Thank you,” she says, smiling, and kisses him again. Bull leans back on his elbows, smiling too.

“Try copying what she does with her mouth,” he suggests. “Not at the same time, though, or you’ll just end up clacking your teeth together.” Marguerite hums agreement. Hesitantly, Cole slides one hand through her hair, onto her shoulder.

“There,” she says, pulling back again. “How was that?”

“Wet,” Cole says thoughtfully. “And warm. You taste like mint. I don’t think I taste like mint.”

“You don’t,” she says, “but you don’t taste like pickled herring, which is where my limit is. Did you like it?”

“I did,” Cole says. “It felt nice.” He turns his head. “Can I try with you, The Iron Bull?”

“Sure.” Bull decides that if Cole doesn’t prefer women or men by instinct, raising the question now will just confuse him. He takes Cole by the hips instead, tugging him closer, and Cole bends down to him easily, instinctively, which is an interesting bit of information. Cole kisses him slowly, without hesitation or bravado, which is unusual in someone as clumsy-new as this. It’s innocent, and odd, though Cole’s getting less clumsy by the second. Cole’s fingers brush over the back of Bull’s head, settling on one of his horns.

“You don’t have any hair,” he says, pulling back.

“You figured out a pretty good substitute,” Bull says. He’s always liked a little bit of weight on his horns. “So, how’d you feel?” Cole closes his eyes.

“Tender and trustworthy and tough,” he says, cupping Bull’s cheek in one hand. The gesture is so ordinary that Bull starts. “It’s louder, when I’m touching you. You want to look after people. Me. You want to make me feel safe.” He opens his eyes. “I do trust you, The Iron Bull,” he says. “I do feel safe with you. Thank you.”

“I… oh.” Bull covers Cole’s hand with his own. “That’s a little creepy, kid, but…”

“It’s a good instinct,” Marguerite says. The bed rustles as she sits; her thigh brushes Bull’s. “If you know what someone wants to hear, and it’s something you can say and mean, tell them.” She shrugs. “I don’t always bother with meaning it, but I’m working for my supper. You aren’t.”

Cole nods, and Bull can practically see him filing the information away. His knuckles are chapped under Bull’s palm. “What should we do next?” he asks. Bull hums thoughtfully.

“I’d say oral’s a pretty good lesson,” he says. “It’s popular, and it’s… generous. I have a feeling you’re going to like generous. I tend to run into logistical problems with women, though.” He taps a horn, grimacing. “I’m not as bendy as I used to be, and I don’t think you wanna get gored in the thigh.”

Marguerite eyes him a little suspiciously. “There’s no way to make it work?”

“There’s ways,” Bull says. “You can get your legs between your shoulders and my horns while I kneel, if you’re skinny enough, or if you wanna kneel over my face and I can hold my head up. But you won’t have a lot of room to move for the first and you’ll have to keep your own balance for the second, and I’m probably going to end up with a stiff neck.” He sighs. “Can be worth it, but I don’t know if it is for you.”

“Hm.” She tilts her head, picturing. “Okay, I can see the problems.”

“I’m skinny,” Cole volunteers, looking between the two of them. He’s still cupping Bull’s cheek. “And I don’t have horns.”

“Well.” Marguerite grins, stretching her arms over her head. “Move over, Bull.” He complies, shifting towards the head of the bed; Cole’s hand drops away. Marguerite lies back, dropping her head onto Bull’s thigh. “C’mere, honey,” she says, beckoning to Cole, and draws her skirts up around her waist. Even her thighs are freckled; Bull smiles. Cole tilts his head and slides his body between her legs, bracing himself on his elbows. He hovers over her, not moving, and looks from Bull’s face to Marguerite’s.

“Go on,” Marguerite says, running a finger along the folds of her cunt. “There’s nothing to worry about. Just run your tongue along.”

“I’d like to kiss her thighs, if I were you,” Bull says. “Those freckles, damn.”

“Brown stars in a sky like cream,” Cole muses, and drops his head to a cluster over her knee. Marguerite smiles, slightly pink.

“Thank you,” she says.

“That was almost romantic,” Bull observes, combing his fingers through her hair. “Not bad, kid.” Marguerite shifts her head, catching her breath, and when Bull looks back down Cole lifts his head from in between her thighs.

“Salty,” he says. His mouth gleams.

“You’re pretty wet already, huh?” Bull says, looking down at her. “Kid’s a good kisser.” It’s the sweet enthusiasm more than anything else, but it’s good.

“The two of you made a nice picture, too,” she says, smiling. “And I like something new.”

“As alive as blood,” Cole says thoughtfully, licking his lips, “or more alive. It can leave your body without it hurting. To do that with blood you need a very sharp knife.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t romantic,” Bull says, glancing down at Marguerite.

“No,” she says. “Also, interesting, but maybe not the time.”

“Interesting?” Bull blinks; she shrugs, upside-down.

“There’s a mage, one of the ones the Herald picked up in Redcliffe,” she says. “He tips well and he rambles afterwards. It ounds like the kind of thing he’d be interested in, but… not seductive.”

“I did it wrong, then,” Cole says, frowning.

“Blood and knives should usually stay out of the conversation when you’re in bed,” Bull says. “General guideline.”

“But you use both of them.”

Marguerite snorts; Bull sighs.

“Specialized circumstances,” he says. “That’s the kind of thing you want to talk about _before_ anyone gets their pants off or their skirts up, too. If it works it works, but for everyone else it’s kind of unsettling.”

“All right,” Cole says. “Should I start again?”

“Please,” Marguerite says. Cole kisses her thighs again, just as before, before he gets his mouth on her. There’s only so much Bull can see, but Marguerite tilts her head back, sighing. “That’s a good start,” she says. “Change the speed around a bit. And move your head up, where the folds come together – yes, there, that’s good. Be gentler to start, though.”

“Not everyone’s gonna be alike,” Bull says, reaching over her to settle his hand between Cole’s shoulder blades. “Lot of people make that mistake. But everyone’s different.”

“I can almost hear what she wants,” Cole says, barely lifting her head from her this time. “At the edge of the hearing that isn’t hearing. It builds as she does, and when the want because a need, I’ll hear like shouting.”

“Oh.” Bull glances at Marguerite, but she just sighs; Cole’s back at work again, by the wet sloppy sounds of his tongue. “Well. That’s just an unfair advantage, then.”

“Shut up,” Marguerite says, and then “oh – oh!”

Bull’s always liked being able to see someone’s face as the pleasure builds in them, and it’s just as fun watching someone else make it happen – less intense, maybe, but it’s nice to be able to do nothing but watch. Marguerite is more vocal than loud, lots of soft little noises but none that’d get you kicked out of a room – which makes sense, but it all looks real. She flushes, the redness spreading up to her ears and down through the hollow of her throat, and she tosses her head, sending her hair whispering across Bull’s thigh. Bull keeps his hand gentle on Cole’s back, feeling the muscles there tighten as Marguerite starts to cant her hips off the bed.

She comes in a long breathless cry, and Cole keeps his mouth on her for a few minutes after, making slick heady sounds. The whole room smells of sweat and musk. Cole lifts his head.

“You’re softer now,” he says. “Soft and warm, like sunlight. It’s good.” His smile is shining and sudden; he shifts, and catches his breath.

“Oh,” he says. “Some of that’s me.”

“Some of what’s you, kid?” Bull asks. Marguerite is breathless, head lying heavy on his lap; he’ll give her a minute.

“ _Want,_ ” Cole says, more breathless than Bull has ever heard him. “Hot, heavy, hard – it’s never happened before. It’s _me._ ”

Bull bites down hard on a laugh, digging his teeth into his lower lip. “Yeah, that’ll happen,” he manages, and runs his hand along Cole’s spine, from the nape of his neck to the small of his back and up again. Cole shivers. “You’ve really never even had a hard-on before?”

“Sometimes,” Cole says. “When I wake up. It wasn’t like this.”

“Yeah, no, it wouldn’t be,” Bull says. “Come on, I bet your pants are pretty uncomfortable right now.” He tugs at Cole’s hair, gentle enough that it shouldn’t hurt; Cole sits up, following the pressure of Bull’s hand. “Get your clothes off.”

Cole nods, grabbing at his shirt; there’s no hint of display to it, but he struggles out of shirt and undershirt at once, flinging them past the edge of the bed. Bull reaches for the laces of his pants, dislodging Marguerite’s head from his thigh, and Cole sighs, slinging his arms over Bull’s shoulders.

“See, you’ve got instincts here,” Bull says, turning his head to kiss the inside of Cole’s arm. There’s a long pale scar marching up the inside of Cole’s arm; Bull keeps his mouth on the knobs of his wrist instead. Cole tilts his head back, tilting his hips up so Bull can ease his pants off of his legs. His cock springs free, slender and a richer red than Bull imagined Cole’s skin could go. “What’re we going to do with you, Cole?” Bull asks, stroking along Cole’s back again. Cole arches into the touch, unabashed and unrestrained.

“Seems pretty obvious,” Marguerite says. Bull glances over; she’s got one leg crooked up, teasing a finger along the folds of her cunt. “You want to, Cole?”

“I want,” he says, still clinging to the Bull. His eyes are closed. “I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I _don’t_ want.”

“You wanna fuck Marguerite?” Bull asks, cupping Cole’s face in his hand. “Hey. Look at me. Or at her, that works. And you can take a second to think about it, if you want.”

Cole does look to Marguerite; she shrugs one shoulder, smiling, and stills her hand. Cole lets go of Bull long enough to settle his hand on the inside of her thigh, tilting his head like he’s listening. His eyes flutter half-closed, but not completely.

“Sweet slow slide where I’m swollen still, sensitive, a warmth like sweet wine after the burn before, building again inside of me,” he says. “That’s what it’s like?”

“For me, Cole,” she says. “I don’t know what it’ll be like for you. Probably not like that, though – I just came, you didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cole says. “I know what you’re offering now. I want to give you that.” He nods. “Yes. Thank you, The Iron Bull. And thank you too, Marguerite.”

“Why’re you thanking me?” Bull asks.

“Because you want to be thanked,” Cole says. “You want to deserve to be thanked. And you brought us here, so I can thank you for that. I mean it.” Thoughtfully, he kisses Bull again, before he turns to Marguerite. “Show me how.”

“Hold up a second,” Bull says. “Marguerite, you’re all set with the healers, right?”

“I am,” she says. “Examined regularly, and I take the potions so I don’t end up diseased or with a babe. I might as well ask you if you let your axe go dull.”

“I figured,” he says, holding up his hands. “Mostly I’m trying to get the kid into good habits. There’s diseases you can catch, if you’re not careful,” he explains to Cole. “The healers can fix most of them, with the mages and all, but it’s better to be careful. And I don’t know if you’re fertile or not, but that’s an adventure I think we can all agree we don’t need.”

Cole’s eyes go wide. “I don’t know either,” he says, staring down at himself. “That’s… strange. That’s very strange. Little lives, lives that could be. _I’m_ barely alive.”

Bull’s throat goes tight. “Yeah, well,” he says. Cole would say he isn’t sad to be what he is, so Bull won’t drop his own pity on the kid, but damn – sometimes it’s hard to avoid.

“You look plenty alive to me right now,” Marguerite says, reaching out to squeeze his knee. “Well, you won’t be getting any children on me. You ready?”

“Show me?”

“Sure, sure.” Marguerite settles her hands on his hips, guiding him up to her. Bull shifts, back, giving them space to move. Marguerite takes Cole’s cock in her hand, and Cole gasps, falling forward onto his arms.  Marguerite wraps one leg around his hips; her heel presses into his lower back, half-covering a ragged scar. It looks recent enough that it might be Cole’s for real. Marguerite shifts, biting her lip, and Cole moans.

“ _Warm,_ ” he says, and scrabbles at the mattress, grabbing for – grabbing for Bull’s hand, huh. Bull squeezes his fingers, breathing through the burst of tenderness in his chest.

“We’ve got you, Cole,” he says. “Both of us. You’re doing good. Least it looks that way.”

“He’s a good student,” Marguerite pants, mouth shining red. She’s got her fingers digging into Cole’s hips too, guiding him; Bull can hear the slick, heady sounds of the two of them. He cups himself over his pants with his free hand, breathing in slowly.

“I can – ah! – I can hear you both,” Cole chokes. He’s crushing Bull’s fingers, a strength Bull didn’t even know he had. “I want – I want –” and Cole throws his head back and draws in a deep shuddering breath – two – three. Slowly, he lowers his head to Marguerite’s shoulder. His grip slackens on Bull’s hand.

“There now,” she says, slowing the roll of her hips, and pets his hair. “There you are, honey.”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Cole says, muffled. “I startled me.”

Bull can’t help but laugh; the kid’s never minded being laughed at. “Yeah, that happens,” he says, rubbing at Cole’s shoulders again. “It gets easier to hold off. Blowing your load too early your first time’s kind of a tradition.”

“What he said,” Marguerite says. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. I’ve had people come faster.”

“I wanted to know more things,” Cole says dolefully, turning his head sideways. He blinks.

“That’s the nice thing about sex,” Bull says, scritching at Cole’s hair. Marguerite makes room for his hands. “There’s always more to find out. I promise, we couldn’t fit all of it in a night.”

“Oh.” Cole leans into his hand. “You need… do you need?”

“Nah,” Bull starts to say, but Cole keeps talking:

“No, you don’t need, but you want, not desperate yet but hot and hard. Satisfied, but not sated. No pain tonight, but power, and it’s enough. You don’t always ask for everything you want.”

“Hey, I’m great at asking!”

“Only when you know it won’t hurt people to say no,” Cole says, and shifts, pressing his hand over the bulge of Bull’s cock. Bull catches his breath.

“I could use my mouth again,” Cole offers. “I liked that.”

“If you want,” Bull says, a little unsteady. “Want me to get my pants off?”

“That would probably help,” Cole says, with a kind of perfectly sincere consideration that makes Bull laug again. He sheds his shoulder harness, shoves his pants down around his thighs; Cole and Marguerite both watch, Marguerite propping herself up on the pillows.

“Wow,” Marguerite says. “Cole, just so you know, that’s bigger than usual.”

“Bull’s bigger than everyone,” Cole says, leaning in, and then pauses. “That’s bigger than my mouth.”

“Use your tongue,” Bull offers, wrapping his hand around himself. “Or just suck at the tip.”

“Okay.” Cole nods solemnly and bows his head, dragging his tongue along Bull’s cock, bumping against his fingers. Bull exhales, closing his eyes, and squeezes himself as Cole sucks at him.

“Try and get a rhythm going,” he murmurs; Cole makes a soft, affirmative noise, and fastens his mouth over the tip of Bull’s cock, sucking twice before going back to the use of his tongue.  Bull squeezes himself again. He’s closer than he thought he was, from watching them, and Cole’s sloppy unabashed enthusiasm pulls at him. “That’s good, kid. That’s good. I like that.”

“I know,” Cole pulls off him long enough to say, sounding faintly smug, and wraps his mouth around the head of Bull’s cock again, sliding his mouth down. Bull shifts his hand forward, cutting him off before he can choke himself, and Cole pulls off and goes back to licking him. Bull groans, giving himself another long pull, and Cole’s tongue follows his fingers.

“You okay with me making a mess of your face, kid?”

“Mmm-hm,” Cole says, and lifts his head. “Yes. She did.” Marguerite snorts.

“Fair enough,” Bull says, and tilts his head back. “Close your eyes.” He takes a deep breath, squeezes his cock as Cole tongues at his slit, and every muscle in his body goes taut for an endless minute and then collapses all at once.

When he opens his eyes, breathing hard, Cole is perfectly still, face covered in streaks of white.

“Can I open my eyes now?” he asks.

“Wipe your face off a little first,” Bull rasps. “Come in the eye’s no fun. Marguerite, you got any cloths or anything?”

“I do,” she says, rooting around next to the bed. “C’mere, Cole, let me clean that up.” Bull had intended to do it, but he sits back and lets her: she’s gentle, careful around his eyes. The kid looks good, compliant and still with come streaked along his cheeks; Bull appreciates the view. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

Cole does, glancing down at himself. “I don’t _want_ again,” he says. “I thought I would.”

“Eh,” Bull says, shrugging. “You just got off, it’ll be a little while before you can get going again. It’s like needing to catch your breath. Or could maybe you’re just not so into dicks. Could be either.”

“I wanted you earlier,” Cole said. “So it’s probably the other thing. That’s strange. Lots of people get something they want, but it doesn’t usually mean they stop wanting.”

“It’s the body pushing on the mind again,” Bull said. “You’ll still want whatever you want, you just won’t get wound up by it for a little while.”

“How long?”

“Depends,” Bull says, shrugging. “Most people take about a half-hour, give or take. Usually it’s shorter when you’re young, but…”

“I don’t know if I’m young,” Cole says, tilting his head in consideration. “I’m new in the world. I don’t think it’s the same thing. Solas says the things I remember are old.”

“Your body’s young,” Bull says. “I think that’s probably what counts, for this stuff. Is there anything else you want, kiddo?”

“I want to sleep,” Cole says. “I don’t know if I like sleep. It’s very new. But my body wants it.” He leans against Marguerite’s shoulder. “But I like the touch. You’re warm. I don’t want to leave.”

“Bull paid for all night,” Marguerite says, stroking his hair. “Go ahead and sleep here. It’s okay.”

“Will you stay, Bull?” Cole asks, turning his head to look.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Bull admits. “This bed’s pretty crowded with three of us in it, and I’m basically a human and a half. Plus horns. But I’ll stay if you need me.”

Cole considers. “Is it all right if I come find you in the morning?” he asks. “People like to see each other, in the morning. I want to understand that too.”

“People want to know if they’re still gonna be friends after,” Bull says. “Or if they’re gonna keep doing what they’re doing together. I don’t know if this is going to be a regular feature, but we’ll still be friends. I promise.” He squeezes Cole’s shoulder. “But yeah, you can come see me when you wake up.”

“Oh. Good.” Cole closes his eyes, leaning into Marguerite. “We need to lie down.”

“We do,” she says, laughing, and pokes Bull. “Clear the bed. Way for the sleeper.” Bull smiles, tugging his pants back up over his hips, and helps disentangle the blankets. Marguerite curls herself around Cole from the back, and Bull pulls the covers up over them both, carefully arranging the worst of the wet spot in the blankets so it’s not on them. Cole is breathing slow and easy already, by the time he’s done. Marguerite smiles at him, eyes half-closed.

“Thanks, Marguerite,” Bull says. “Knew I could count on you.”

“I’m the best,” she says. “Thank you, too. He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah,” Bull says, and ducks his head to kiss Cole’s forehead. When he looks up, Marguerite’s smile is wider.

“You big sweetheart,” she says. “Go on, now. Don’t worry. I’ll look after him.”

“I know,” Bull says, smiling, and turns away. He’s humming as he lets the door fall shut behind him.


End file.
